Soothing Souls
by Pudgoose
Summary: A series of deep short stories with all your favorite characters, just meant to make you think...
1. Knife in the Eye

**Disclaimer**:  I don't own Dragonball Z.

**Dedications**:  There are two dedications for this one-shotter.  One to a guy named Justin B. at my school, as he wrote the piece that inspired me to write mine, and the other is to **Stef-chan**.  Stef gave me the title for my story, edited it, and… uh… commented on it.  ^__^  Thanks Steffy!  I couldn't have a better friend!

**Author's Notes**:  This is a pointedly short story, inspired by an entry in my school's Literary Magazine.  When you get to the end, think about it…

**Knife in the Eye**

The night that I came over to his house, he was already expecting me.  Standing outside on his and Bulma's balcony, dressed in the regular, he greeted me with a grunt and a middle finger; a bad habit he's picked up since he's been on Earth.  I glare and give him the middle finger right back.  I'm not in the mood to play games.

"So champ, do you want to play the boxer?" he asks me.  He always asks me that when I feel this way.  I've had an inkling for a long time that he can sense when I'm breaking.  Maybe he's been pushed to that point so often that he can easily identify it in other people.  I nod.  He then motions to the midnight-tinted grass below him, "All right then.  Let's take this below.  Don't want to wake up the woman."

We fly to the ground and my feet land with an inaudible sound.  We take off our shoes and don't even bother to stretch, engaging ourselves in backyard wrestling, the best and most unoriginal way to get the steam out of your blood.  Nothing fancy.  Nothing specific.  Just a hit-anywhere-you-can-for-as-long-as-you-can-till-you-give-out kind of thing.

"What's that knife doing in your eye, champ?" he asks me, pinning me down.  I don't even pretend to struggle.  I tell him there's no knife in my eye, but he assures me that there is; that I just can't see it, because no one can see his or her own eyes.  I tell him he's losing it.  He then asks me if I put the knife there, or if someone else did.  I shove him off of me and sit up, my arms starting to itch from contact with the soft grass.

He pushes me over, stands up himself, and says that I'm a damn good boxer.  I glare at him and he smirks.  "Does that knife in your eye hurt when you give me that look?"  I stand up and shove him backwards, telling him to cut it out.  I tell him all I wanted was the fight, not the ramblings of a psychopath.

"But there is a knife in your eye.  And there are pinpricks under your fingernails, in the area you can't see.  There's a dagger in your tongue and a shrapnel wound in the small of your back."

I can't bother to tell him to shut up again.  He seems so intent on screwing with me, with that twisted smirk and those corruptive eyes—corruptive, or corrupted.  I merely look at him.  He tilts his head back in an arrogant gesture, and the stars glisten white on his eyes; there's no light on the insides of them.

"There's a hole right through your soul, too, champ," he says.  "A hole deeper than you can imagine.  But don't think you're special and don't expect pity, because they're inside everyone.  It's only the ones that are brave enough to admit it to themselves that are enlightened.  The others just run.  But, then again, who alive can analyze himself and live, huh?  Who alive can _know_ something is wrong with them and say they are okay with that?"  He pauses, and I look him up and down, my eyes narrowed.  "There are those who say that suicide is the coward's way out.  Will you now wonder if suiciders were the bravest ones of us all?"

His eyes are still tilted to the stars.  And still, there's no light in them.  I frown and look down at myself, wishing I could see my eyes and under my fingernails.

"Have you ever wondered if Kami analyzes himself?  Will you wonder, now, if he has the same hole in him that we all do?"

I tell him to shut up, that Kami's too respectable and much too grand for Vegeta to be talking about him like that.  Turning around so that my back's facing him, I thank him curtly for the brawl, and take off into the air.  I need to get back home.

Because I can't stay any longer.  If I do, Chi-Chi might begin to miss me…  Miss me and my cheerful smile.

~**P**udgoose


	2. Glass

**Disclaimer**: Once again, I don't own DBZ.

**"Knife in the Eye" Interpretation by the Author**: Yes, well… I told myself if I ever did another short story, I'd explain what "Knife in the Eye" meant to me, personally.  Some of you may want to read this, others of you may not… If you're curious enough, have a go at it!  ^_^

First off, the narrator in the story was Goku.  I think that was still a mystery to some, even when it ended.  Next, I should go ahead and admit that the entire story came out almost like a fluke.  I didn't even realize half of what I was writing.  I think my subconscious did it all, and afterwards I found meaning for everything.

The "knife" in Goku's eye, the pinpricks, the shrapnel wound, the hole in Goku's soul… they symbolized faults.  Flaws that we hide ourselves from: that we don't—or can't—notice.  That's why they were in places Goku couldn't see, because to "see" them would be to find great fault in himself, possibly pushing him towards suicide.  He was running from his problems: a sort of subconscious survival technique.

So how did Vegeta know it all?  He was dead in the first place, on the inside.  That's why there was no light shining on the inside of his eyes.  It symbolized his death.  He had either been forced to realize his faults in his hard past, or it had forced itself upon him, and the spirit inside him had died early.

The whole nickname "champ" thing came from Justin B.'s story, and the "boxer" reference just popped up because when I was writing, I was also listening to Simon and Garfunkel's song "The Boxer."  It was a fluke in my writing that just turned out well.  ^_^;;  Nothing intentional there.

And to wrap this whole bit up… Goku visited Vegeta in the first place because I wanted to make him seem deeper than he was, like a real _person_.  To me, Akira Toriyama made a fictional character that was… well… _fictional_.  Goku's too easy-going and careless all the time for him to be "real," so I twisted him around and made it look like a mask he used for everyone.  When he came to Vegeta, he just couldn't stand carrying the charade on for any longer.  He needed an escape from the pressure of family, if only for a bit, and Vegeta gave it to him in a fight.  ^^;;  Yea, twisting Goku's personality is gettin' to be a real habit of mine in my writing, lol…

So did you guys think along the same lines as me?  Or did the story have some totally different meaning to you?  Either way, it's fantastic to me!  ^-^  Just as long as I inspired you!

**Author's Notes**:  I think I got a _lot_ deeper into this fanfic than I wanted to…  Pushed it too much to the edge, you know.  Went overboard with the metaphors and junk.  But we'll see… Let me know what you think of it!

Oh, and thanks to** WingsofPhantasy9** for BETAing!

**Glass**

My name is Gohan.  I'm twelve years old, with a pet dragon, with a mother.  I have a father, but I'm fatherless.  I also have a mirror.  I look at myself in my mirror sometimes.  And sometimes I look back out at myself.

Currently, I'm wishing I had a father, even though I have one.  He's trapped inside photographs, though, so he doesn't come out to play too often.  Sometimes Mom tells me through pursed lips that I have a living father too.  I can only suppose that I do, fatherless child that I am.

I look in my mirror, and this time I'm looking back out at myself.  I can also see behind me; my window opens and night pours inside.  I watch green antennae snake their way inside my room, followed by a head, a torso, and a body.  Piccolo closes the window again to keep bugs out and to keep the breeze from flapping my curtains.  He looks at me.  My mirrored self, however, is the one he gets in return.

"If I had come earlier, would you have been here?" he asks.  "Or would I have only gotten the shell of yourself, as I'm getting now?"

In return, I ask what the difference is.  Piccolo shifts himself so that he blocks the moonlight that had been seeping through my window, throwing him, my room, me, and my reflected self into darkness.  The only thing I can see now is a milky, glowing outline of a cape and a turban.

"Do you think of me as the Demon King?  As an embodiment of pure evil?"  I frown, still watching him from my reflection.  I tell him no, of course not.  "There is the difference, then, between body and soul—reflection and life—shell and heart.  If I were to tell you that your mind now is gone, and that all I sense is an outer shell of your thoughts, what would you say?"

I tell him that my mind has always been absent, and that my thoughts were always lost on my father, even though I don't have one.  I tell him that my _real_ passion has been spent on worshiping the _shell_ of my father, and that now my shell is left to find the real him.  Piccolo's head jerks to the side, as if he's considering me.  I can't see his face, though; all I see is the glimmering outline.

"But why isn't a shell good enough?" he asks me.  "Why can't you just settle on what you think you know?  Why can't you settle on memories of Goku?  Why can't you see _me_ as as much of a parental figure as he is?  We both helped you grow, and after the fight with Cell, he's not coming back."  But I tell him I can't—I just _can't_—now that the honest truth has been confirmed.  I tell him it's not possible, and that I'm not bold enough to lie to myself.  He is silent, and my reflection can only see so much of him.  "You are braver than the rest of us, Gohan.  Braver and stronger than us all.  I always figured you'd overcome us, kid; that you'd whip our butts in the end.  And you have, even though you've just about damned yourself for it, as many great leaders have done before."

So am I destined for greatness?

I ask him if I'm smarter than Mom believes me to be, and he nods.  I shudder and groan, punching the mirror.  Glass shatters—through my hand—through my heart—through my soul—and through my shell.  I put my glass-infected hand to my head, burying my face in it.  I tell Piccolo to give me one more night, give me one more night of this.  He sighs.

"I can't do that, Gohan.  Only you can do it to yourself."  He pauses.  "But you've bought yourself a lifetime-full.  You don't need assistance from me."

I refuse to cry, though I've done it all my life.  The glass doesn't hurt, though it will later.  I turn to plead with Piccolo's black, faceless form, and now he looks like the evil Demon King himself.  I contradict him, saying I can't do this alone.  I need my father.

His cape shivers, though he closed my window minutes before.  "I am here, Gohan, even though Goku isn't."  I tell him that's not true; his shell is here.  He turns his head, and the milky shine on him seems to fade.  "Yes… You're right.  But with me being attached to Kami, I don't believe I've ever really been here to begin with.  And you always seemed content with that."

He turns, opens the window, and leaves the room.  I sigh, stand up, and head over to close the window again.  The glass in my hand is only just starting to hurt.

~**P**udgoose


	3. ChiChi's Dish

**Disclaimer**:  …

**"Glass" Interpretation by the Author**:  Again, I want to explain what my last short story meant to me.  If you don't care about this, skip it and continue on.

"Glass" had plenty of symbolism, and unfortunately, I can't explain half of it.  Before writing this story, I had gone through an extreme emotional breakdown, so it was more a _feeling_ I was trying to converse than an idea.  If nothing else, I wanted to convey the feeling of helplessness and impending doom I had been feeling, which was what Gohan had when Piccolo was talking to him: when Piccolo said Gohan was braver and stronger than the rest, but would be condemning himself for it; when the Namek assured Gohan that he was smarter than his Mom believed; and when he told Gohan that Goku wasn't coming back.

With the whole "reflections" bit, I had been searching for an idea to pair my feelings up with, and my eyes settled on my mirror.  I didn't really have a real reason for it, but I figured I could just settle on the fact that the public eye only sees what we express: whether it be a lie—or as I called it, a shell/reflection—or the truth.  I tried writing it out like that, and I liked what I came up with.

There were two sides to Gohan being "fatherless."  The first was the fact that he _literally_ didn't have a father at the time: Goku was dead, thanks to Cell.  The second one brought back the "Knife in the Eye" point, that Goku was probably portraying pseudo happiness and love to Gohan all his life, just so Gohan might be happy.  I wanted to point out that maybe Goku wasn't ever _really_ there at all, ya know?  And um… what else… Oh, the deal with Chi-Chi saying that Gohan did have a living father.  There was no real deep symbolism there.  She was just referring to Piccolo.

And speaking of him… Piccolo was almost as much of a helpless character as Gohan, but a lot more introverted about it.  He wanted Gohan to look up to him like a father—like a caring, parental figure—but the fact was that he _wasn't_ Gohan's dad, and Gohan only saw him as a friend.

And uh… Let's see… The statement, "…give me one more night, give me one more night of this" was a random fluke with nothing meant by it.  I just happened to be listening to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers' "One More Day, One More Night" song.

And the very last bit, where the glass was only just starting to hurt Gohan's hand…  I didn't really understand what I meant by it when I wrote it, but I suppose it could mean that Gohan's always going to remember this pain—that he's always going to remember his Dad's not with him.

And er—that's it!  (Or all I can think of, anyway, lol…)

**Author's Notes**:  This is the only story so far that I wrote without listening to music, lol, so there won't be any random song quotes pasted in here.  Also, the symbolism in this fic is a lot subtler than in the previous two, but I can't tell if I like it better this way or not… Please review and let me know what YOU think!  Oh, not only that, but the general idea was given to me by **Stef-chan**.  So thank her for the Chi-Chi/food idea!!!

**Chi-Chi's Dish**

The cold sun is already beginning to set, orange and fierce.  I peer my head in through the kitchen window, open and welcoming in the weather, though winter has already begun to set.  I don't see what I'm looking for, only Chi-Chi's back as she is bent over the dishes she's cooking.  I quietly turn and plan to take off into the sky.

"Hey—hey Piccolo!  Just what do you think you're doing?" she asks me.  I suppress a groan, instead covering it up with an annoyed sigh.  I tell her in a flat voice that I'm looking for her husband and son, and since they're not here, I shall try somewhere else.

"I don't know where they are, either," she says softly.  I turn and look at her, frowning.  She nods.  "Yes, I almost never know where they are.  They never tell me."

I apologize, though I've done nothing wrong.  I turn and prepare to take off into the sky again, but she calls my name once more.  I sigh and turn abruptly; there's no escaping this, is there?

"I want you to taste some of this food for me," she says, motioning to the pots behind her.  I give her a hard glare, as if to see if she's mocking me.  She knows very damn well I don't eat or drink anything but water.  I've resided here for almost a year, after all.

I tell her I don't have time for this.  I tell her I can't sense Goku's nor Gohan's Ki anywhere, and that I have to find them so that I might train with them for the coming androids.  She waves a hand as if shooing a fly from her face, and I get angry.  How dare she ignore my needs like that?

"You have time for this.  Come."  I groan and take several steps closer to the window as she returns to the stove, puts on two oven mittens, and picks up one of the many pots to line up before me.  She pulls a tasting spoon out from her drawer and reveals the lid.

I eye the stew, growl, and tell her to forget it.  I say I drink water, water _only_, and that what she's doing is ridiculous.  She glares at me.  "A little bit of anything never hurt anyone."

She hands me a spoonful of the first dish, and I swallow it, only because I figure I won't be able to get away unless I obey her commands.  My face twists in genuine disgust, as I don't bother to pretend I'm enjoying it.  I look at her strangely; Son always talks about her food being great (much to my annoyance, as I'd rather his mouth be full of my fist).  Does he just not have any taste buds, or have they long-since died from her previous dishes?

The look she gives me tells me that she knew it was bad in the first place.  She gives me a small smile that makes her eyes sparkle.  "Pretty awful, huh?"  I nod fiercely, thrusting the spoon back to her.  Her smile widens just the fraction of an inch.

"Yes… Yes, I wonder how that will affect your judgment now."  She takes the spoon out of my hand and sighs.  "You've had a first bite.  Do you want a second?  Do you think that a second bite might be easier, now that you've already gotten through the initial blow?  Or perhaps you want other dishes of mine?  No?  I see…  So now this dish has persuaded your taste, making you judge something that you haven't had yet.  You don't know what's under this lid."  She tapped the top of one of the other pots with her spoon.  "Yet you _think_ you do, and you think you don't want this.  What if it's better?  Or, possibly, what if it's worse?"

I glare at her and ask her what if it's not worth giving a second thought about.  She snorts, but there's a light dancing in her eyes.  I roll my own and turn to leave for the third time, saying I don't have time for this; I have to train for the inevitable battle.

"Pretty darn worried about those androids, aren't you?"  I snort, cross my arms, and say that she will be too when they've destroyed her husband and son, along with the entire world.

Silence.

"Or maybe it's not worth giving a second thought about," she mocks.  I turn and bare my teeth—my sharp, canine-like teeth.  "You worry so much that it's almost humoring.  You prematurely judge something you haven't experienced yet.  Has a past experience made you judge this battle the way you do?"

I think for a second and then shake my head.  No, I say, the boy from the future was the one that changed my views.  Chi-Chi gives me a hard stare.  "Why?" she asks.  "Why?  If I had told you before that this pot was full of my very best work, would you have tried it with a swayed opinion, or with neutral feelings?"

I watch her for a few minutes.  She turns and stirs some of the pots back on the stove to let them cook a little more while dumping the contents of the bad pot down the drain.  I open my mouth, hesitate, then ask her why she's telling me all this.  I ask her what the point is.

She heaves a heavy sigh and is still.  I wait for a second or two.  "I almost never know where Goku and Gohan are," she whispers distantly, scrubbing the bottom of the offending pot absentmindedly.  "They never tell me…"

I scowl and turn away, staring at the bright October sun, almost completely hidden, now, in the sea of the horizon.  I look up and watch the leaves blow black in their trees, shivering from the cold wind starting to blow.  Something else in the sky catches my eye and I smile.

"They're here," I say loudly, glancing at Chi-Chi.  She looks up and looks out the window, her lips tight.  She then looks at me for the longest time, and I stare back, caught under some impenetrable spell.  She opens her mouth; I can almost see a disagreeing opinion forming on her lips.  She closes them, though, and turns back to her dishes, shaking her head.

Son lands next to me and claps me on the back.  "Where've ya been?" he asks cheerfully.  I tell him I've been looking for him and his son.  He laughs sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck.  "Uh… yea, Gohan and I have been taking a nap.  Got a little peaceful out there by the lake, didn't it, Gohan?"

I look down at the child only to see he's beaming at me with brilliant eyes—such trusting eyes.  I smile back at him.  "Why were you looking for us, Mr. Piccolo?" he asks me brightly.

I pause.  I take a deep breath and look at Chi-Chi.  Her back is to me, and so I turn back to her son and ruffle his wispy, Indian-black hair; it's nothing worth worrying about, I say.  Let's enjoy ourselves now, now that we're all together again.

Son laughs and sticks his head through the window, asking Chi-Chi what smells so good.  I smile, shake my head, and lead Gohan inside by the hand.

By now, the sun has drifted under the horizon, only to rise again another day.  And I shall be there to confront it.

~**P**udgoose


	4. Too Easy to be Found

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, in the past, present, or future dimensions, Dragonball Z.  (Though I wish to no ends that I did… I'd be making mucho money right about now… XP)

**"Chi-Chi's Dish" Interpretation by the Author**:  My hidden meaning.  OoOoOoOoOoOo…

In all honestly, **Chi-Chi's Dish** didn't have a lot of symbolism.  And the symbolism that WAS there was incredibly hard to spot.  So I'll read it off to you…

The sun in the beginning and end had two different meanings, actually.  In the beginning, it's "orange and fierce" and "beginning to set."  The setting part represented Piccolo's lack of time before the androids arrived, as well as his diminishing hope and belief that the world would survive.  The orange and fierce part of it represents Piccolo's mood—his anxiety, urgency about finding Goku, and his irritability.  Towards the end the sun has finally set, "…only to rise again another day.  And I shall be there to confront it."  Piccolo's worry has diminished, and should it rise again, he will be more prepared to take it on.

This is a part that I myself didn't understand entirely, even when I wrote it: Chi-Chi's claims that she doesn't know where her husband and son are, because they never tell her.  I suppose I was trying to say that she doesn't know where her family is emotionally in relation to her.  Goku and Gohan are never close to her in the show.  There's more of a father-son bonding than there is a father-wife, mother-son, or even an entire _family_ bonding.  I don't know why I included that, though, because it hardly has anything to do with the main point of the story at all.  I suppose I wanted to throw in a sense of mystery…  OoOoOo… Lol.

I'd be surprised if anyone but **Stef-chan** picked this one up, and that's only because she told me to write it!  (If you did catch it, though, good job!  ^____^)  The food that Chi-Chi has is symbolic as well.  It represents her feelings.  All the dishes that Goku eats are good ones—symbolizing the love she shows him.  But she shows Piccolo another side of herself… a more tired, less perfect side, because she knew Piccolo won't say anything about it to anyone.  And even when Goku comes home in the end, he only smells the good dishes, perhaps showing the audience that he doesn't bother to see any deeper into Chi-Chi's feelings than what's on the surface.

And that's about it.  The main message I was trying to get across was, of course, pre-mature judgment, but Chi-Chi explains that quite bluntly.  I don't think I hid any secrecy around that one…

**Author's Notes**:  This story was done over the longest period of time than any of my other Soothing Souls anecdotes—about a week and a half, to be more exact.  It's a lot "happier," so to speak, and it's also a LOT shorter than the others.  (Even though the others are short as well.)  I wasn't really trying to shoot for a dark or depressing motive in this one, as I wasn't depressed myself.  Rather, I was aiming to improve my skills of dictation and description.  As you will soon see (hopefully… unless you turn back now or suddenly die), a major part of this story is spent on "painting a picture" of the setting and characters, and there's hardly any action other than dialogue.  Oh, this is also another Gohan/Piccolo one.  XP  I seem to be a sap for Piccolo suddenly, for some reason…

I was inspired to do this one from watching the movie, **The Pianist**.  (Brilliant movie, btw.)  There was one scene in particular that touched me, even though it wasn't nearly as important as many of the others.  When the pianist guy (I've forgotten his name… :P) was in hiding in the second apartment, he was told to keep quiet because he wasn't supposed to be there.  Yet there was a piano in the room…  My heart ached with emotion when he sat down and pretended to play, listening to the music in his head.  See if you can see the connection between that scene and this story…  ^.^

**Too Easy to be Found**

I cry his name—in the politically correct form, of course—and laugh and trip over myself as I hurry to his boot-tipped toes.  The sun shines on them, and they sparkle.

His legs are crossed.  He's floating.  He's in the shade of a tree.  His weighted cape and cap are lying beside him.  And he's in such an abandoned, green, peaceful valley, hidden between two towering, snow-capped mountains that for some reason I can't help but think: he looks out of place here…

He opens his eyes and looks at me.  "I was meditating," he says with a smile.  I grin back; I'd known that.  I'd long since grown fond of his meditating stance, he did it so often around us.  "How'd you know I was here?"

I tell him that I didn't, that I was looking for him and found him on happenstance.  He stares at me for many silent seconds.  "Yes, of course, you didn't know where I was."

This is one of those many moments where I shall be his pupil.  I know it; I can sense it.  I give him a wry look, take the bait, and ask him where he was specifically.  I ask him where his mind had traveled.  Had it swam in the streams of the valley?  Had it trudged through those mountains caked with snow?  And then I ask him where does he want his mind to be.

Mr. Piccolo chuckles.  "You're a very bright kid, Gohan.  Yet still naïve.  Why would I go to these places when I can bodily visit them so easily?"  I don't know, I whisper.  He smiles.  "No, I was not in the streams, in the clouds, or in the snow.  I was not worrying about what was to come, I was not drifting to some peace that would easily elude me, and I was not trudging through my own sorrows and past blemishes."

I watch him, and I notice that his green face matches the color of the hills of grass a ways behind him.  They frame his face.  I tilt my head and narrow my eyes, trying to internalize it all.  Then I slowly repeat my last question.

"Where do I want to be?  Where does anyone want to be, kid?  I want to be free of my body and mind and spirit.  I want to die, to strip myself of every burden I carry, so that I am nothing more than innocence and ignorance.  But when will that be done?  How can I do that sooner?"

I tell him I do not know of any path other than death itself.  Horrified with myself, I hurriedly beg him not to die or to try to commit suicide, that life's burdens really aren't that bad, and that, somehow, there certainly must be other ways.  Piccolo chuckles and waves a hand, brushing my fears aside.

"I wouldn't do such a thing.  And yes, there are other ways.  But they all start here."  He pointed to his right temple, and his eyes were clouded with a strong, quiet emotion or thought I could not place.  "It's all a mind game, Gohan.  It's the secret to success, to peace, and obviously to meditation.  It's the key to your escape, to your freedom.  It's the key to happiness.

"We've all been there before.  Some go involuntarily.  Some go without such a sense of direction that their mind falls into pits of sticky despair and cannot detach itself from its troubles.  And I'd much rather be a tree than a leaf, Gohan.  At least a tree knows where it's going."

I smile and my eyes sparkle with awe.  He's such a great tutor.  I ask him, in all sincerity and earnestness, where he was before I disturbed him.  _Really_.

Mr. Piccolo chuckles and stands up, wiping his pants off, even though he hadn't been touching the ground in the first place.  He picks up his cap and cape and puts them on in their respective spots.  He turns around, and I can swear he's going to take off into the sky without answering me, before he says, "I was on Namek, kid."  On Namek, I repeat inquisitively.  He nods, his antenna bobbing lightly.  "On Namek with you."

And he flies off.  And I am with him.

~**P**udgoose


	5. For Father's Day

**Author's Notes**:  There will be no previous chapter interpretation because I hardly remember what it was about and what I was trying to get across.  Actually, for the sake of my sanity, I think I'll stop that whole previous chapter interpretation jazz.  It's just getting too complicated with all the time in between the publishing of my stories.  So… sorry.

**For Father's Day**

It was only when he looked up that he realized something was wrong.  The table was crawling with ants.  They were climbing on his and his family's food, darting across the gossamer, white tablecloth and their silverware as they ate, just barely missing their mouths.  They were infecting everything: the coleslaw, the mashed potatoes, the banana nut bread, the turkey slices, even the soup, and especially the sugar.  He couldn't see a grain of white sugar for all the auburn, moving thoraxes piled on top of it.  Just where had all these ants come from, and how so suddenly?  There were millions on the table, and it looked like they had been living there for months.  But they weren't there when he had sat down to eat, and that was only ten minutes ago.

He frowned his face and looked at the wall.  There was something else wrong: the window was shattered, and glass was all over the floor, just waiting to be stepped on.  It had obviously started raining in the past ten minutes, and the wind was blowing so fiercely sideways that it was practically raining horizontally—and raining in the direction of what had been the window.  The floor was being soaked and the wind whistled fiercely.  So fiercely, in fact, he was surprised he hadn't heard it before then.  But anything could come through that window now, and anyone could get glass in their foot as easy as can be.  Thankfully though, so far everyone seemed to have taken caution and avoided getting near it.

Something buzzed from above him.  He looked at the ceiling and awed at how many flies were clinging to it.  Like miniature vampires, they stuck to the wooden ceiling supernaturally, upside-down and with all the ease in the world.  There had to be thousands of them there, glistening black and sometimes a greenish purple when one flexed its wings.  But they were all sitting there, most of them perhaps sleeping, waiting for when their moment would come.  He scowled at them all, for flyspecks were so hard to clean off of anything, and would be doubly hard to clean off of a ceiling when there were so many.  But what were they all doing there?  How did they all get there?  It wasn't like this before he'd eaten dinner, and all of them couldn't have possibly entered the room in that amount of time—even with the open window.  Insects didn't go out and about during the rain.

"Goku, honey," his wife sweetly cooed as she spooned more food on his plate and picked up her own utensils.  He turned his attention from the mass of filth above him to her, and she smiled warmly at him, scooping up a portion of her coleslaw with her fork.  Goku watched the ants weaving about in it.  "I really want you to know that you really are something special.  Truly.  You do a better job defending the Earth and this family than anyone ever could.  I'm so very proud of you.  It makes me feel so privileged to be able to say that yes, in fact, I am your wife."

"Yea Dad," Gohan agreed, smiling gently and scooting his chair backwards.  He took his cup in his hand and exited his seat to go to the kitchen and get more drink.  "Thanks for everything.  You really protect us from everything.  You're the greatest Dad ever.  Happy Father's Day."

Goku watched his only son step over such sharp shards of glass before reaching the kitchen door, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him.  He ached on the inside, turning to Chi-Chi and watching helplessly as she stuck the insect-infested coleslaw inside her mouth and then smiled in a mixture of sheepishness and love.  He knew her tongue must have been itching from hundreds of tiny legs struggling all over it.

"Wish I could do more," he admitted to her heavily, watching as reached for the sugar dish and spooned out not white crystals, but writhing, armored bodies into her tea.  She laughed softly, tipping the ants into her drink and stirring the spoon around in it, the metal clinging daintily against the glass.

~**P**udgoose


	6. Mohstas

**Author's Notes: **Okay, it's been forever and a day since I updated this story. But I was looking through my old files, found this one, and couldn't believe that I hadn't published it. Was I out of my mind?

We'll have to see.

The one's a personal favorite, though, so I hope you enjoy it. Oh, and I know I said, "No more interpretations," but I'd just like to throw a side-comment in here about the last chapter, simply because it will be easy to do. I'd always thought that it was kinda funny—well, _interesting_ is probably the better word—how Goku was always so detached from his family in the series. I mean, the guy's got a great heart, is super strong, the perfect hero… and yet, the only family bonding he does is a little scene here or there with his son. He really doesn't have much going on with Chi-Chi at all. So, I figured I might touch on the subject of how he "abuses" his family at home. He suddenly sees all the stuff he hasn't taken care of… and yet, his family still love him. Because who can't help but love the guy?

Anyway, here's THIS short story. Enjoy.

**Mohstas**

When I first wake up, I think that the screams ringing in my ears are nothing more than my alarm clock's buzz. I turn over on my side, prepared to pound a fist on top of it, when its neon numbers catch my eye: 4:21 AM. Wait a second…

There's another scream, and this time I sit up in bed, trying to disentangle myself from the sheets. My mind pounds and my heart catches in my throat, the frantic response that only a mother could have. I glance to my right and see that Vegeta's woken up too, though he doesn't seem to be having nearly as much trouble with the bed as I am. I watch him stand up and jog out of the room right before I fall out of bed and land on my back, my legs wrapped up like some sort of Christmas present.

The screams are still echoing around the house, driving me mad, as I disengage myself. I have to be near my baby. I _have_ to. Something's troubling him and I have to fix it. I finally scramble to my feet and head towards the door, but I stub my little toe against my desk in the process, and cry out in pain. I curse the dark and I curse the pain.

The screams finally subside. Vegeta must have gotten to his bedside.

I whine and try to forget the pain as I trot down to Trunks's room, cursing the size of my gargantuan house. As I get closer, soft, mixed murmurs float out to meet me. I pause at his door to grab my still-throbbing toe, peering inside. Vegeta has kneeled beside our two-year-old's bed, his back to me, and I decipher whether or not I should rush in. I've never seen Vegeta act like… well… a _father_ _figure_ before, and I don't want to interrupt him.

"What's wrong?"

"Daddie, a mohsta was chasing me," Trunks sobs, and my hand clenches tighter around my foot, my heart aching. "It was twying to eat me, Daddie."

"There's no monster," Vegeta answers, his voice low and quiet. I stare at him, willing Vegeta to lift his hand and bring Trunks into a loving gesture, but, of course, he does no such thing. "You had a dream, boy."

"But it was twying to eat me!"

"It's not real," he says, shifting his knee, which must be getting uncomfortable in his position. "You had a dream. Dreams aren't real, boy. There's no such thing as monsters."

Trunks squirms shakily on his bed, wiping his eyes with his hands, and I can tell he's fighting the urge to ask his father to hug him. Even at the age of two he knows it would upset Vegeta to merely request such a thing. He's such a smart child.

"But… but there's a mohsta in my closet, Daddie. And dere's a mohsta unda my bed. They come out at night, Daddie." Trunks sniffles. "Dey twy to eat me too."

Vegeta sighs. "Boy, how many times must I say it? _There's no such thing_. Can't you understand?"

Trunks looks away, and my heart aches for the need to be beside him. I almost take a step foreword, but Vegeta raises his hand and I falter, not wanting to interrupt what could possibly become a hug.

"The only monsters that exist are the ones that are in here," he says, and he lowers his hand gently to touch Trunks's forehead. "They only live because you believe they do."

I shiver, watching Trunks shake his head slowly. He lifts his own tiny hand and leans over, touching Vegeta's heart. "Nu-uh. Thewe's wun inside you too, Daddie. I see it sometimes, when it comes out. It's the most scawiest of all."

My breath catches and I feel a cold pressing hard on my chest, willing my heart to stop its beat. I shiver again and goose bumps stick up all over my arms and legs. I wish more than ever that I could see Vegeta's face. Silence passes for a second or two, and Trunks slowly removes his hand, shifting uncomfortably back under the covers. Vegeta lifts his hand and stands up.

"I saw a lot of monsters in my life too, boy," he says in a tone I can't quite decipher. Is it pity? "Maybe if you keep a strong face and be brave, they won't hurt you. Maybe they'll find someone else to pick on."

"Even the one unda the bed?"

"Even the one under the bed."

Vegeta stands and stares at Trunks for a good while, giving me a third shiver. It must be a look Trunks can't stand, too, because he looks away and starts smoothing out the wrinkles out of his sheets with his tiny hands. He suddenly speaks.

"Will you seep with me tonite, Daddie?"

"No, boy. I've got my own monsters I need to keep away."

Vegeta moves as if to turn around, but Trunks is intent on talking. "Do you think Mommie's scawed of mohstas too, Daddie?"

"I don't know. I've never asked her. She probably is."

"Do you… do you think _Kami_ is scawed of mohstas?" Trunks asks in a voice barely above a whisper, looking surprised at his own daring.

"I'm sure, boy."

"And… and Daddie… do you think—" Trunks pauses, and I can tell he's a nervous, much to Vegeta's obvious irritation. The Sayian straightens his back in a slightly impatient motion. "—Gohwan told me dat his Daddie used to be da most stwongest fighta in the whole wowrld. Do you think _his_ Daddie was scawed of mohstas too?"

There's a pause, and I turn my head so that my ear's facing the doorway, worried that I might miss something. A nervousness bites at my stomach, and my heart pounds, waiting to hear Vegeta's answer. He finally emits one harsh laugh, but when he speaks, his throat sounds tight and painful.

"Kakarroto? Boy, I know _personally _that Kakarroto had more demons chasing him than anyone I know." He pauses and I frown in confusion. Goku? Troubled? "But he was oblivious to them."

"What does o—ob—_obivous_ mean?"

"It means… he didn't realize he was being troubled, so he was happy."

Trunks pauses, and I turn to look back through the door. Vegeta is waiting, as if expecting another question. "So if I pwetend I don't know da mohstas are dere, dey can't hurt me?"

Vegeta laughs; the sound is empty. "You figured it out. Good night, son."

Trunks calls back a good night and blows a kiss that his father doesn't return. I take a step back as Vegeta exits, and he looks at me, his expression unreadable. "Go back to bed, woman," he sighs, and I watch him strut back to our bedroom, a hand raised to his heart as if he can feel something there. I tilt my head to the side in a puzzled way before looking back at Trunks. He's already fast asleep.

I tiptoe slowly inside and crawl beside him, careful not to wake up my baby or the monster under his bed.

**-P**udgoose


End file.
